Slate McCormick
Description Standing at a sturdy six foot four, Slate has made such a habit of sucking in the slight beer belly that he developed in his last few years of mortal life that it's difficult to notice the extra weight hanging over his belt. Broad-shouldered and heavily limbed, the Lasombra is thick with muscle from his mortal years of wrangling horses, wrestling cattle and slinging hay bales. The calluses on his large hands never quite went away, and even now, he maintains his old skill sets by working in the local riding stable. As quick with a wrench as he is with reins, Slate is eternally smeared with grease, hoof oil or some other unpleasant substance that stains his t-shirts and jeans, much to Kitty's eternal disgust. Heavy feet in worn cowboy boots hit the ground with a distinctive tread, making it impossible to mistake Slate's approach for anyone else's. Despite his often untidy clothing, there's a solid attractiveness to his face and a warmth in his dark brown eyes that's rarely found in others. Keeping his black hair short to minimize the curls, Slate rarely fusses with his appearance. The only concessions he makes to personal adornment is the sleeveless t-shirts worn on "hunting" nights to reveal the tattooes marking his biceps. The tattoo on his right arm was the result of a lost bet with Kitty, but she was gracious enough to pick out the Warner Brothers' Tazmanian Devil instead of something pink. The tattoo on his left arm- an intricately detailed roaring lion- is something he rarely talks about, but he had it done not long after discovering his wife had not died, but had simply taken her Embrace and left. They are now what one could consider divorced, but Slate still wears the simple white gold wedding band on his left hand. Hidden beneath his t-shirts is the tiny white and rose gold crucifix that his mother wore his entire life, but Slate tucks it away to protect it rather than to hide it, and he treasures it more than even his collection of gleaming belt buckles, won from his mortal days in the rodeo. Personality Some men were born to be fathers. Slate is one of those men. With an instinctive weakness for children, there is nothing this Lasombra won't do to protect, guide and help any child. The sparkle of bright young eyes brings a smile to his face, and the childish piping of happy voices has been known to cause spontaneous laughter from the vampire. A proper cowboy, Slate opens doors, pulls out chairs and helps women out of cars unthinkingly, always addressing unknown women with a low-spoken "ma'am" and a smile. Well-known to the "freaks" of the city is Slate's horrible weakness for redheads. When Kearna smiles at him and beckons a long finger, Slate is her unquestioned slave. Kitty also has that same control over Slate, simply through her status as his "little girl." Anyone who reminds him of his lost daughters is given the kind of consideration any woman dreams of, and Slate is exceptionally generous in meeting feminine demands. When dealing with men, the Lasombra variates between a stern father and "one of the guys." Commanding his pack with a mix of harassed father and military drill sergeant, Slate has been very successful in keeping them together, alive and dangerous to their enemies. It doesn't, however, mean he won't kick back with the Rough Riders to enjoy a football game, movie or to laugh at Nathan when he sputters in rage at Jack's easy victories in "Mortal Kombat." Cars, horses and guns are all part of Slate's interests, but not nearly as much as photography. Family photography, to be precise. There's always one relative who seems to have a camera available to snap photos at a moment's notice- that relative for Brandenburg is Slate. Those he considers family are inviolate, and he will go to any lengths to protect them. Adversely, they must also meet Slate's high standards for "family" by lending a hand wherever and whenever it is needed. While he's still a little iffy on the matter of Lancaster- who is known for his prowess in killing vampires- Slate, as a devout Catholic, would never be able to kill the man. For that, he would have to rely on his Rough Riders. And yes, if you joke about the name he's given his pack, you can expect to have your face meet the nearest wall. Pre-Game History Born in 1922, Slate was destined to be a cowboy from the day his mother Eleanor confessed her pregnancy to her husband,Slade. Holding a ranch together in an area known for it's ranching was difficult, but Slade's work ethic was such that he managed to make a living despite the competition in the economy. With a first-born son to pass his ranch onto, Slade worked even harder, and by the time Slate was ten years old, the ranch was one of the most popular for beef buyers north of Amarillo, Texas. While his mother taught him the "cowboy etiquette" that his father followed so strictly, it was Slade that the young Slate modeled himself after. His father was all-knowing and all-powerful, holding the reins of the ranch firmly in his callused hands. It was only Slade's insistence on an education that made Slate agree to his schooling, and it was Slade's tales of meeting Eleanor that shaped Slate's relationship with the woman who would guide so much of his life. At the age of thirteen, Slate met Marguerite Thatch, the daughter of a penniless preacher who had moved to Texas in the hopes of finding a congregation in need of shepard. Money wasn't something that he was focusing on, but Reverend Thatch found reason to be grateful for his decision when Slade McCormick took him under his wing and introduced him to the "right people" in Amarillo and the surrounding ranching communities. His daughter Marguerite was exclaimed over for her subtle beauty- actually she wasn't much to look at, but when Slade admired someone, everyone else who wanted his respect hastened to follow- and for her gracious manners. Slate was entranced the moment he was brought into his father's parlor to meet the reverend and his daughter. Marguerite's jet-black hair and luminous grey eyes seemed to fill his mind, and her blush at his stuttering greeting matched everything his father had told him about his mother Eleanor. The more he knew of Marguerite, the more entranced he was, and Slate threw himself into learning the family business with a passion, wanting nothing more than to provide Marguerite with the secure nest she so obviously deserved. Learning by his father's example, Slate courted Marguerite as gently as he possibly could- properly asking her father for permission to call, bringing gifts for her family, walking her home from church. The few times he took her riding was with his mother's chaperonage, and the entire community looked approvingly on as Slate grew, taking over the cattle breeding from his father, and promising to be everything a young man should. World War II came home to America, and while every red-blooded young man was signing up for the military, Slate was at home. At the age of eighteen, Slate took on the family business after his father suffered a fatal stroke. Deprived of his guiding light so soon in life only made Slate more determined to live up to Slade's example. Letting a year pass to prove that he would be able to maintain his father's legacy, Slate proposed to the seventeen year old Marguerite just before his nineteenth birthday. The young woman was honestly dismayed, but the pressure of her father's approval nudged her into accepting the proposal, although she put her foot down and demanded a long engagement. Presumably this was to give Slate time to have his parents' home refurnished and remodeled for his bride-to-be's satisfaction. In truth, Marguerite was desperate for a way to escape the marriage, and made plans to head "back East" to live with a cousin. Of course, all of that might have worked if it wasn't for Slate's determination. The house's renovations were completed within six months, and with a heavy sale of beef leaving money in the bank for the wedding ceremony- Slate insisted on paying for everything, giving the reverend nothing to worry about save performing the marriage- it was only a month later that Slate and Marguerite were wed. The honeymoon was a simple trip to Amarillo, as Slate was too worried about his mother's health to leave for long. Upon returning, he settled into married life as though born to it. Eleanor recognized the first signs of a disenchanted and restless wife, and she tried to counsel Marguerite, helping her learn how to properly run a household and care for a husband. Slate drifted in the oblivious haze of complacency, believing that the wife he came home to every night was happy to see him and happy with their shared life. He never noticed how fretful she was when news of the war came or how she left most of the household arrangements to Eleanor. Lost in his own perception of domestic bliss, Slate threw his attentions into helping the war effort in any way he could. All thought of America and war flew out of Slate's mind in 1944 when his mother gently took him aside and confided that she believed his wife was in a "delicate condition." Nothing could contain Slate's joy at the thought of having his own child, and over Marguerite's protests, he took her to Amarillo to see a doctor. It was confirmed, and Slate began renovating the room beside theirs that very afternoon. Moving his wife to a guest bedroom while he made the proper adjustments, Slate would allow no one to help him prepare the nursery. Surely there was no more devoted father-in-waiting. Marguerite was given months of idle rest, her every whim granted, and Slate often took over household chores himself, collapsing into bed in the early hours of the morning only to rise at dawn to give the ranch the attention it needed. All of it was to secure his child's future, and he begrudged none of it. It was with overwhelming pride that Slate showed the eight months pregnant Marguerite the beautifully renovated nursery. Both she and Eleanor were shocked to see that Slate had painted it pink, found lace curtains and done all in his power to make the nursery the most feminine room in the house. Slate's explanation was simple: he wanted another Marguerite to love and for his mother to have a granddaughter to adore. He never questioned that his first child would be the daughter he wanted, and in March of 1945, Slate held his newborn child and named her Tamara Eleanor McCormick. So began another stage in Slate's life, and the one he felt he had been born to fill: that of a father. Adoring and devoted from the moment little Tammie was laid in his arms, Slate did everything in his power to make the baby happy. Long nights of crying, when Marguerite had long since given up in disgust, found the large man who regularly wrestled cattle for branding pacing up and down his upstairs hallway, the sobbing baby cradled carefully against his shoulder. In his efforts to entertain, teach and care for Tammie, Slate was tireless, and the moment that he still considers the highest point in his entire existance was the day that Tammie looked up at him, smiled and said "Hi Daddy!" With his single-minded nature, Slate could only be pulled from the miracle of fatherhood by something truly tragic, and he mourned his mother's death in pained silence as Marguerite struggled through a second pregnancy. Tammie was four years old when she lost her grandmother, and at the age of twenty seven, Slate was the patriarch of his family. The responsibility didn't frighten him, but the possibility of letting his family down did, and Slate worked harder than ever to ensure that nothing would threaten his family's security. Marguerite's miscarriage hit Slate harder than it did his wife, and the attention he showered on Tammie doubled as he lavished love on his only child. By the age of six, young Tammie was the darling of her father's ranch, riding in local rodeos and had been crowned a rodeo princess. Slate, overwhelmed with delight at his daughter's accomplishments, bought her special horses, helped her train for her rodeo routines and had saddles adjusted to suit her perfectly. Marguerite was invited along for the rodeos, but her distaste for Slate had become almost a commonplace part of life, and she chose to remain home more often than not. Distaste, yes, but a husband and wife do still share a bed, and when Marguerite spat that she was pregnant shortly before Tammie's tenth birthday, Slate disappointed his daughter for the first time in her life by cancelling their road trip to Dallas for a large rodeo celebration. For seven months, all of his attention was focused on Marguerite. It was the first time that Tammie couldn't immediately get her father's attention, and she began resenting the new baby before it was even born. Briefly basking in her role as center of the household, Marguerite ran Slate ragged after all of her demands, but it was worthwhile in his opinion. In August of 1955, Slate was able to hold his second daughter, Cassandra Slade McCormick. Although Tammie resented her new baby sister for stealing their father's attention, it was Slate's knack as a father that let him explain little Cassie's role in their family in such a way that she accepted her sister within a month. Now with two daughters to adore, Slate was more than happy to let his wife drift off into her own cold sphere. Careful to teach their children to respect their mother, Slate was, nonetheless, quick to take them on an outing and away from Marguerite's cool gaze. The ranch continued to do well, although it never lived up to Marguerite's expectations of providing them enough money to spend carelessly. Slate was thoroughly satisfied with what he had maintained, and simply put money aside for his children. With the changes in the world, he was fully prepared to send both of his daughters to college, and he spoke to Tammie about finding a career that she wanted to pursue. It was typical of Slate's attentiveness to his daughters that he recognized Tammie's desire to be out and about in the world, while Cassie was much more content to be home and with her father. With that in mind, Slate began teaching Cassie how to run and maintain the ranch even as he helped Tammie prepare for life outside of home. Overwhelming pride accompanied the day Slate helped his elder daughter pack for college, and despite the eternal coldness between Marguerite and himself, he was content to settle Tammie into her dorm and kiss her goodbye before returning home with Cassie. An all girls' college was certainly a new concept, and one that wasn't inexpensive, but Slate managed to pay all the bills and still surprise both of his daughters with personalized jewelry for their birthdays. Marguerite's was acknowledged by their children and with a bouquet of flowers from Slate. While he would have given more- even absorbed in his children, Slate still held onto a little of the adoration that had spurred him to court her so vigorously- Marguerite's demand had upset him more than he would admit. She wanted a divorce, and Slate had flat-out refused. Tammie had returned home for the beginning of her summer vacation, now proudly twenty-one, and Slate was settling into his middle-aged years. It promised to be a wonderful summer with both of his daughters, and then night fell. Slate had no warning, save Marguerite shaking him violently awake and saying that someone was downstairs. As any Texan would, Slate took his shotgun and crept down to listen. A lone mortal, even armed, stands no chance against a Sabbat war pack, and Slate was overwhelmed. He fought until the very end, hearing the screams of his children, and the last mortal thought he had was gratitude that they would, at least, be together after death. For Slate, however, there was no peaceful Heaven. He awoke to the laughing vampires, and atop the body of one of his own mares. The war pack hadn't counted on the burning rage of a father, and combined with the First Hunger, Slate was unstoppable. His first night as an undead was spent in venting his grief on those who had caused it, and his first day found him asleep beside what he had found of his children, buried in the cellar. Pertinent Connections * Catherine Elizabeth Meriwether -the only woman in Slate's pack, and his beloved "little girl," heaven help whoever makes her cry. Slate will draw matching tears out of them as he forces them to apologize, and then shatter their spine. No one is allowed to make his baby girl cry. *Nathan Talbot -while Nathan does drive Slate insane at times, he is family, and for that alone, he is tolerated and protected. Even if Slate can't stand his choice of dress, or his preference for old black and white films. That, of course, doesn't stop Slate from borrowing from Nathan's world-class porn collection when the mood takes him. *Thomas Walgrave -the "brains" of the operation, Thomas is an enigma to Slate. An enigma, however, that he happens to be very fond of. Even if Thomas is gay. *Jack Ferrers -perhaps the pack member with a mentality closest to his own, Slate considers Jack a sturdy second-in-command and the only other person he'd trust with his horse, Thunder. Preferring Jack's company over anyone save Kitty, Slate can often be found watching football with the Gangrel antitribu- even if they cheer for opposing teams. *Coriline Ferrington -the little, bouncy fae is one of Slate's favourite people, and he's always on the lookout for another pink bunny collectible to add to her apartment. Random Traits * Keeps an enormous collection of "family" photos in his room * Is not very proficient with either gun or knife * Listens to Patsy Cline albums when depressed * Has over twenty pairs of cowboy boots and wears no other footwear Category:Bookcase